Faithful to whom? Frances did not need to speak the words. Her mind ran on. Her father had provided a rich dowry for her marriage, and her husband’s careful management of his estates had further swelled the resources at their disposal. With the income from his position at court, they would have enough eventually for Thomas to retire from James’s service. They had spent many hours discussing it, each taking equal delight in the prospect of living out their days at Tyringham Hall, surrounded by their growing family. The idea of risking it all on a hazardous expedition that had little prospect of success was abhorrent. Thomas would surely never agree to it, even if she were minded to. But then she thought of the excitement in his eyes when they had spoken of Raleigh’s scheme and she suddenly felt far from certain.
Frances shivered as a breeze blew in from the river. The sun was low on the horizon now and the air had grown chill. She began to walk back towards the landing stage. After a moment, her companion followed.
‘I ask only that you think on the matter,’ he said, taking her hand as he drew level with her.
Frances did not reply but kept her eyes fixed on the path ahead.
CHAPTER 16
19 March
By the time Frances and her husband arrived, the courtyard was crowded with people eager to catch a glimpse of the entourage. Word of Raleigh’s release earlier that day had spread like wildfire. Thomas had known it was coming: he had overheard a conversation between the King and Sir George More, the new lieutenant of the Tower, two days earlier. He had woken Frances with the news when he had returned to their apartment that evening. She still felt the same mixture of anticipation and dread with which she had first received it.
Thomas had proved even more eager than she had feared to invest their fortune in the enterprise. Our debt will be repaid in more ways than one, he had told her. The King of Spain had promised to enrich all those who supported Raleigh as soon as their invasion had succeeded and James had been toppled from his throne. The small matter of who was to take his place was less certain. Although Philip had vowed to pledge his allegiance to the King’s son and heir, Prince Charles, on condition that he reinstate the Catholic faith, Frances doubted he would hazard so much for so little personal gain. Thomas shared her scepticism but was of the view that even a foreign king was better than the heretic who now sat upon the throne. Frances suspected it was the desire to be rid of Villiers more than James that had driven her husband to hazard their fortune on the scheme.
A distant cheer could now be heard from the streets outside. At once, the excited chatter died and a hush descended upon the courtyard. All heads were turned towards the gatehouse where a large body of the King’s yeomen stood in readiness to clear a path through the crowds. Frances glanced back towards the windows of the great hall. She knew the King would be seated there under the canopy of state, waiting to greet the man who had been his prisoner for almost as long as he had worn the Crown of England.
The clatter of hoofs echoed around the courtyard and Frances turned just in time to see Sir Walter emerge from underneath the gatehouse. How typical of him to make his entrance on horseback, rather than in the privacy of a carriage, she thought, with a smile. His white stallion was magnificently caparisoned in rich scarlet cloth edged with gold, and Raleigh was dressed in a satin doublet of black and white – the old Queen’s favourite colours. His once ruddy complexion had grown pale from the long years of incarceration and his grey hair had receded, but as he drew closer Frances saw that his eyes glinted with triumph as he graciously acknowledged the adoration of the crowds. How their cheers must irk the King, she thought, with satisfaction.
The yeomen who walked in front of Raleigh’s horse shouted for the crowds to make way. Thomas squeezed her hand as they stepped back. Raleigh was so close now that Frances could have reached out and touched his immaculately polished boots. He glanced down at her as he passed and flashed a smile of genuine warmth, then quickly looked away. She was grateful for his discretion.
Frances and her husband watched his retreating form. They did not surge after him, like most of the onlookers, and soon they were standing with just a few other stragglers. She breathed in a lungful of air, relieved to be free from the crush of bodies.
‘God speed his endeavours,’ Thomas said, in a low voice, his eyes still focused upon the archway through which Raleigh had disappeared.
‘Amen,’ Frances whispered.
Her husband turned to her. ‘You don’t still have doubts, my love? We have discussed this many times and I thought you were reconciled to what we have done.’ She caught the edge of impatience in his voice.
‘Of course,’ she replied, casting a glance at a small group of courtiers as they ambled slowly past. ‘But I worry for our sons – this child too,’ she added, resting her hand lightly on her belly. ‘We are risking their inheritance upon this scheme. If Raleigh should fail . . .’
Thomas moved closer and placed his hand over hers. ‘We are doing this to safeguard their future, not to hazard it. If all faithful subjects sit on their hands while their king and his favourites steep themselves in wickedness, then by the time our boys become men, this kingdom will already be damned.’
Frances gave a tight smile. Not for the first time, she reflected on how much had changed in just a few short years. During the early days of their marriage, it had been Thomas who had urged her to keep their faith only in her heart, that to do otherwise would destroy everything they held dear. She had always known him to be such a peaceable man. The change in him had been wrought not by the King but by his rapacious favourite. Villiers seemed to have a knack of finding out men’s weaknesses and exploiting them ruthlessly.
‘Shall we?’ Thomas said, holding out his hand. Frances took it and they followed the handful of courtiers who were still making their way towards the hall.
The smell of roasted meat hung about the kitchens as Frances crept silently through them. She had lit a taper from the dying embers of the great fire and relied upon its frail, flickering light to guide her to the small courtyard that lay beyond, next to the river. She was glad that Raleigh had not suggested meeting in her apartment. He had not been absent from court for so long that he had forgotten there were eyes and ears everywhere. As she lifted the latch of the outer door, she found herself wondering how many times he had used this place for his clandestine business.
The smell of tobacco smoke filled her nostrils as she stepped into the courtyard. In the gloom, she could just make out the intermittent glow of a pipe as it briefly illuminated Sir Walter’s smiling mouth.
‘Lady Frances,’ he said softly, sweeping a deep bow. He held out his hand to guide her towards the bench he had been sitting on. ‘I’ll wager you never thought to converse with me here – and I a free man.’ She heard the smile in his voice. ‘I had almost given up hope myself, but our friend Bacon was most persuasive with His Majesty.’
‘He is as skilled an orator as he is a philosopher,’ she agreed. ‘Is everything made ready for your voyage?’
Raleigh blew smoke. ‘A few ships are assembled at Plymouth, but I will need many more yet. Even the King acknowledges that the fleet is too small for our purpose – though, of course, he does not know what purpose that is.’